


a kiss like my heart is hitting the ground

by vicepoint



Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Jealousy, Mentions of Frank Bowers, Other Minor LiS Characters, Recreational Drug Use, Stereotypical Teen Angst, Underage Drinking, pre-game, too much swearing? probably too much swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-15
Updated: 2016-05-15
Packaged: 2018-06-04 02:27:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6637285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vicepoint/pseuds/vicepoint
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chloe wouldn’t hesitate to leave this shithole in an instant, but when she looks over at Rachel smoking and drinking and laughing like there’s nothing in the world that could ever possibly stop them, she thinks maybe she could stay for a little while longer.<br/>__</p><p>chloe has a bad idolization habit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a kiss like my heart is hitting the ground

**Author's Note:**

> it gets worse before it gets better!

 

 

It’s slowly approaching dusk, half a dozen teenagers laze around by the seaside, drinking carefree and talking loudly. It’s become habitual to sneak out and venture to Arcadia Bay’s most unpopulous locations, and even in the height of the summer, the end of the beach sheltered by trees is abandoned and perfect for getting up to no good. Chloe wouldn’t hesitate to leave this shithole in an instant, but when she looks over at Rachel smoking and drinking and laughing like there’s nothing in the world that could ever possibly stop them, she thinks maybe she could stay for a little while longer.

 

It’s stupid, she'll admit it. The fact she has to sneak out of her own house at her age just to enjoy herself. Just to enjoy existing. It's  _stupid_ , but she's used to it. She's used to not doing things normal, respectable kids do, and she's used to doing things normal, respectable kids would never do. 

Normal, respectable kids - obviously meaning Blackwell snobs; rich-as-fuck artsy pricks who seemingly live perfect lives with their perfect GPAs and their perfect parental relationships and their perfect futures and their perfect boyfriends and girlfriends and Chloe swears to  _God_  she's not envious. Who the fuck set the bar that high anyway? It all seems unrealistic. Fake. Plastic; like barbie dolls and synthetic tits.

Well, okay. Not every person at Blackwell lives like that. But the important ones do. The ones who people give a rat's ass about do. And Chloe does not meet this standard. She just has to... endure until she doesn't have to anymore. Try not to get swept away in the bullshit current in the meantime. 

She's tried not caring, but it's fucking hard. When she bottled up the rage and put up a front; bitter, sarcastic, uncooperative - all things her old counselor would say - her feelings wouldn't make it out of her mouth but they'd still escape somehow. They'd escape in jagged, chemical scrawls across plain bedroom walls; they'd paint themselves in red ink as FAILs on report cards, warnings on parking tickets; they'd appear as cigarette butts in ashtrays, scars littering the skin of the body she controls.

It's not fair. She'd scream that, at the age of sixteen, slamming the door in her mother's face, angry, hurting. Nothing is fair. It's like the world is determined to make Chloe hate it. How fucked up is that? How fucked up is she? Why the hell is she even  _here_  if all the world is gonna do is chew her up and spit her out like some old fucking chewing gum? There's no goddamn logical reason.

Maybe she was put on Earth just to stick it the finger and cry ' **FUCK YOU** '.

Maybe she was just meant to rebel, stand tall and say ' **NOT TODAY** '.

Maybe she's being a pussy.

She just  _deals_. The same way she deals with everything - which, frankly, is rather shittily – but she fucking tries, alright. Even when she doesn't really want to. It's always easier to try with Rachel by her side.

 

She’s distracted when somebody pings her bikini strap, totally forgetting that they're actually meant to be playing a game and not just spacing out and thinking about depressing shit. She suddenly realizes it's her turn - of course it's her turn - so she shoves the dude who touched her. A little too hard, apparently—he's on his ass now, complaining.

Brushing off her cargo shorts, she leans over to spin the bottle.

 _Spin the bottle_. Cliché and predictable. This whole beach party gig is clichéd and predictable but Jesus, maybe she should just enjoy herself while it lasts. She's got booze and weed and Rachel, what else could she need?

She’s here for Rachel, after all. Fuck, she’s anywhere for Rachel. She shakes her head at the simplicity of the situation.

Rachel the social butterfly. Chloe the social outcast… or she  _was_ , maybe. Rachel managed to bring Chloe out of her shell a bit. Just a little. There's a few friends of Rachel's that Chloe might consider close enough to send a birthday card to. Or a text. If she wanted to.

Doesn't matter.  _Rachel_  matters. As far as Chloe's concerned, Rachel is like a one-woman rescue mission set on saving her sorry life. So Chloe'd probably do anything for her within reason. Most of the time within reason.

There’s been a few times where she might have gone a little over the top just to impress her, and she might have gotten in a little trouble with her step-dick, or, uh, the cops, but fuck it. They’re young, they’re living hard and fast, they won’t stop for  _anybody_. Nobody’s going to get in their way. Chloe and Rachel. Rachel and Chloe. Always and forever. Shit like that.

 

It seems eerily apropos when the bottle lands on Rachel. Chloe's still unsure whether she believes in fate and destiny or not. She'll get back to you on that someday.

The others laugh, but Chloe doesn’t really pay attention to that, she just looks over to Rachel in anticipation of her reaction. Rachel grins and immediately turns to Chloe - her eyes wide and enthused - and Chloe relaxes a little then. Rachel is chill.

They've kissed before, once or twice. They’re always drinking or smoking when it happens. At first Chloe doesn’t know what to make of that realization, but then she thinks it has to make sense in some fucked up way. They’re probably happiest when they’re out of their minds like that. And you should never hook up when you're not happy, right?

Rachel smiles and starts crawling on all fours; the sand scatters everywhere and there's a chorus of simultaneous cheers and groans. Chloe's wondering if Rachel would ever make a move sober, when Justin reaches out for her arm and jostles her out of her thoughts.

 

"Check out the view." He's nodding at Rachel. Chloe scrunches up her nose.

"Stop it," she says, but Justin probably doesn't hear her. His eyes are still roaming over Rachel - clad in short-shorts and bikini top, hips swaying - shameless.

Chloe tries to avert her gaze and not be a fucking hypocrite, but Rachel's right there, right in front of her, getting closer. So, she fails.

“Justin, are you trying to steal my girl?” Rachel narrows her eyes when she finally crosses the treacherous path of sand, littered with empty beer cans and drunken bodies.

“Not at all,” he laughs, releasing his grip on Chloe’s arm and leaning back. Rachel smiles triumphantly and places her hands on her hip. 

“Good. You're too drunk, you wouldn't be able to appreciate her for her true beauty, y’know?” She's slurring a little. Chloe scoffs, bashful for once in her life.

“Sure, like you  _aren't_. I'm surprised you didn't burn your ass on the fire,” she dismisses her, waving in the direction of the flickering orange glow they're crowded around.

“Ouch," Rachel says, shifting closer to Chloe, "Hot. Like me."

Chloe tries to laugh. It comes out short, forced.

Her mind’s going blank. _Why the fuck is her mind going blank?_  She decides to focus on something trivial instead of Rachel’s smile, or Rachel’s eyes—like how she should’ve been the one to go over to Rachel’s spot since it was her turn, after all. Yeah. How did that happen?

Rachel finally reaches her destination and slumps, kneeling in front of her. Relying on sole instinct to get her moving, Chloe lifts her hand - the one that isn't down in the sand helping her balance - and brings it up to Rachel’s cheek.  She pauses for a fraction of a second, then swallows the embarrassing lump in her throat before pulling Rachel down, tilting her head as she does it. And she closes her eyes and kisses her.

And melts.

Her lips are so soft, and so warm, and they taste mildly of the whiskey she shallowly promised Chloe she requisitioned from a reliable source, and it's so,  _so_  fucking good; it feels like drinking in summer, warming up her bones and smoothing out all her sharp edges.

Chloe tries to ignore everybody practically exploding into noise around them, but Rachel smiles into the kiss, obviously loving the attention. Chloe starts to pull back then, kind of wanting to tell everybody to shut up and fuck off, but to her surprise Rachel quickly grasps Chloe’s face in her hands and follows her down.  _Fuck._ Sheer confusion and light panic allows her lips to part enough for Rachel's tongue to meet her own.

Chloe's not dense, but it wouldn't be a stretch to say she has no fucking clue what this means.

Rachel can be a mystery, and Chloe can get ahead of herself, so this is probably something different to Rachel than what it is to her, or at least what she thinks it is to her, but fuck, fuck _, fuck._  If she keeps this up Chloe won't be able to stop, she knows it. That thought is scary enough on its own  _without_  trying to decipher Rachel's sudden boldness.

She's not sure if it’s the alcohol or not - no, no probably not, she hasn't had a lot yet - but Chloe starts to burn up, her heart beating faster and faster as she feels Rachel’s teeth graze her bottom lip. They're both still holding each other's faces tightly - neither looking like they're going to let go any time soon - when somebody shouts something about getting a room. 

Chloe startles, gasping a little when Rachel pulls away. The whole thing leaves Chloe breathless and clueless and thoughtless, and it takes her a few seconds before she remembers to open her eyes.

She wishes she hadn’t. 

 

Rachel is flipping Justin the bird, laughing as she shuffles back to where she was sitting earlier. A few people are still whistling and clapping, and Rachel’s still smile smile smiling away, like it was just some big fucking joke—and that's when it hits Chloe.

It really  _was_ just a joke. It  _was_ just a game. It was... nothing.

She couldn't work out what it meant because it was nothing.

She's angry now. She's angry because she should've known that all along. Why the fuck would she think anything different? It's infuriating. She's infuriated at herself. She can be so stupid, sometimes.

Rachel takes a swig of whiskey and some random guy leans over to spin the bottle next, but the bottle doesn’t even move because he barely touched the thing and it’s stuck in the sand and somehow he finds this fucking  _hilarious_  and everybody else does  _too_  and their laughter is  _suffocating_  and Chloe has to stand up just to  _breathe_ —

"Fuck!" She jumps and shies away from the hand on her leg. Trevor raises his hands, eyes wide.

"You okay?" he then asks, quiet enough so the others can't hear. 

“I’m fine," she says, nodding her head ferociously. Christ.  _Christ_.

“I was just asking,” Trevor says, looking up at Chloe towering above the rest of the group. 

“Yo, Chloe,” Justin snorts and Chloe’s eyes snap towards him. “You’re getting all the action tonight, huh!”

She looks down. The bottle is pointing at her.

“I gotta bounce,” she simply announces. A few glances are exchanged between people who aren’t as intoxicated as the rest. The dude who spun the bottle is so fucking out of it that he just laughs.

“Man, am I that ugly?”

By now, everybody’s looking at Chloe. She's not usually the kind of person to back out of a challenge, especially when there are alcohol or drugs involved—but fuck this. Fuck this stupid shit. She doesn't need to come up with an explanation; she doesn't even owe them one.

“I just gotta go, okay? Jesus. Play your kid games with the rest of them.” Chloe makes a flippant gesture with her hand.

She wasn’t planning on leaving so early, but it’s probably best anyway. Step-shit will  _flip_  if he notices Chloe's not holed up in her room all night like she told him. He doesn’t like her hanging out with Rachel, God knows why. He doesn’t like her hanging out, period. She'll just... sneak back in through her window. Yeah. She can do that.

“Cheer up, Chlo,” Rachel speaks up, and Chloe’s eyes fall on her again. She sits cross-legged, barefoot with the bottle between her thighs.

“She was fine a minute ago,” somebody mutters.

“'Cause Rachel was macking on her, dude.”

Chloe doesn't know who said it, but she suddenly has the urge to throw her fist and break their nose. She's seeing red and wants to see some fucking blood to match it.

But when she looks for the person, her eyes find Rachel instead. And they settle on her, just like they usually do, so she stops before she pounces. Rachel has a calming effect, so the violence seems to fade away in waves.

Doesn't mean she'll let the emotions go to waste though. She'll lash out verbally instead.

“Oh yeah, the Big Raging Homo’s got mood swings too. How hilarious. Enjoy the party, fuckers,” she spits.

Rachel looks hurt. Chloe immediately looks away and tries not to think about her broken expression, because she feels fragile, and shame is always more powerful than rage. Shame is silent but strong; it's a threat and it could tear her into fucking pieces. 

The others look uncertain whether she’s just messing with them or if she’s genuinely pissed. They look around awkwardly, not saying a thing. There's probably nothing they could say to fix this anyway.

Justin clears his throat and puts on his Lighten The Mood Face.

“You at least gonna give Trey his goodbye kiss?” he quips, and Chloe shoots him a glare. “I’m joking,” he adds quickly.

"Justin, shut up," Trevor says, hitting him in the shoulder.

Chloe throws her rucksack - now significantly lighter without all the booze in it - over her shoulder with ease.

Rachel still hasn't said anything. Chloe folds her arms and looks at her impatiently.

“I’m leaving,” she repeats, like maybe Rachel misunderstood. Rachel raises an eyebrow at her, shifting her position in the sand. Silence falls. Chloe realizes what’s about to happen so she throws her hands up in the air.

“I’ll see you, I guess,” she adds hastily to make it seem like she never even thought Rachel might join her in the first place.

Rachel looks like she might say something, but then there’s the distinct noise of somebody heaving and Chloe jumps backwards about 5 feet.  _What the fuck-_

Trey's throwing up all over the shitty makeshift bonfire.

If Chloe wasn’t so pissed, she’d probably be laughing her ass off, but she just groans and looks away. "Unbelievable."

Everybody’s complaining and scuttling away from the vomit-fire, so Chloe picks up the abandoned bottle and tosses it between her hands. She turns on her heel and throws it as far as she can.

“I’ll see you at the park,” Chloe slaps Trevor’s shoulder on her way off. 

“Hey, wait- Chlo. I’m coming,” Rachel says, pulling herself up off the sand and brushing herself off.

Chloe wants to keep walking, making Rachel trail behind her like a puppy, like she needs her, like she depends on her and her approval and her words and her smile and her eyes just to get her through the day—but she rolls her eyes and places a hand on her hip instead.

That's not Rachel. That never will be Rachel.

“Hurry it up,” she says, and Rachel doesn’t question her bitter tone.

 

* * *

 

 

They walk along the seashore leaving footprints in the sand, Rachel stops occasionally to pick up seashells and Chloe pretends she doesn't realize she's slowing her own pace to match Rachel's. Rachel has sobered significantly.

“Are you gonna tell me what that was about?” Rachel asks, maybe just to fill the silence between the seagull cries and the soft crash of the waves. Chloe tries not to wince, or snap, because God would it be easy to snap right now. But she doesn't. She won't.

“I wanted to leave,” Chloe says, watching as Rachel dips her toes in the shallow water. Rachel nods, taking Chloe’s offhand answer as a ‘no’, and things go quiet again.

“Those were our friends,” Rachel says.

"Yours."

"You hang out with them too," Rachel protests, despite Chloe's correction, her eyebrows creased in concern. She's been wearing that expression a lot more recently. It unsettles Chloe. 

"Doesn't mean I like them," Chloe replies, cold.

"Come on, why do you hang out with them so much then? You  _must_  like them-"

"I don't like  _them_ , I hang out with them because I like y-" Chloe cuts herself off. Rachel's concerned eyes are back on her again. Her almost-perpetual look of worry is getting a little tiring.

"Y-You know. Company and shit, I guess, I- Look, can we just forget about this?"

"Fine," Rachel says, sounding as tired as Chloe feels. They sigh in unison. Chloe runs a hand through her hair and keeps walking.

It's aimless wandering, really. They're going nowhere. They'll be back at the parking lot soon, probably, because the cliff face is just coming into view. Her eyes are focused on the lighthouse when Rachel speaks again.

"Just... don't hang out with them if you don't want to."

Chloe raises an eyebrow, tearing her eyes away from the place oozing with happy childhood memories.

It was making her feel kind of nauseous, anyway. What was that Brontë quote? _' Dare not indulge in memory's rapturous pain_ '? Yeah, fuck the lighthouse. And fuck English Lit, too.

"I'm not forcing you to be friends with my friends," Rachel says, kicking the sand below her feet. Chloe exhales. She’s not friends with Rachel’s friends, and she probably never will be. Justin and Trevor are tolerable, but that’s it, really.

"I know you're not," Chloe finally says. Rachel smiles weakly in response, relieved.

"Good. I'm glad you get it."

Chloe presses her lips together, the idea of Rachel thinking Chloe wouldn't understand plaguing her mind. They're best friends. Why wouldn't she get it? You tell your best friend shit, and they get it. That's how it goes.

"And it's okay to  _not_  like them, by the way. Just don't pretend you do if you don't, you know?" Rachel continues. Chloe's train of thought is interrupted. She snorts.

"Trust me, I know. God, some of your Vortex Club friends are god-awful." 

"Hey! That's  _mean_ -" Rachel turns to face Chloe, and Chloe laughs. Rachel falters, then gives in and starts smirking. "That's... mean but... that's the spirit, I guess?"

"Exactly. I'll die before I ever get pally with the Prescotts," Chloe says. Rachel makes a weird face.

"Or Victoria Chase." That one makes Rachel smile, though. 

"She's not that bad when you get past the..." She makes a vague gesture with her hand.

"Everything?" Chloe suggests. Rachel shakes her head.

"You know what?” Rachel smiles, “You're right. I don't have to worry about you pretending to like people."

Chloe laughs and bumps her shoulder against Rachel’s.

 

After that, the silence isn't daunting anymore. In fact, it's comfortable. It's a silence that's pleasant and mellow, alluring and warm.

“Wanna stop?” Rachel asks, slowing down, and Chloe slows down too.

Chloe glances at her; her head's facing down towards her feet but her eyes, partially obscured by some falling strands of hair, are trained on Chloe's. Chloe really shouldn't fuck around much longer, it just increases the risk of step-douche grilling her for not being home. Still, she swallows and meets Rachel's gaze.

"Sure."

Rachel's body language changes a little. Chloe's not too sure what it is  _exactly_ , but she's not standing as tall now; her body looser, freer. Something in her shoulders. Or her aura.

Or something. 

"The ocean looks so pretty at this time."

Rachel's looking outwards, her eyes squinting against the remnants of the sunset but still sparkling hazel and gold. She presses her lips together, looking like she's really deep in thought, and Chloe watches. She looks pretty. All soft and dream-like.

"See, look how it glimmers."

Chloe hesitates, then tears her eyes away from Rachel, finally looking around for what she's talking about. And she's right. There's a slice of light in the middle of the sea that splits it, shining brightly, like a sword spanning from coast to horizon. It's a little ominous, like it's threatening to cut Arcadia Bay in half. 

"Yup. Sparkles. Like aluminum foil," Chloe says, resting her hands on her hips. Rachel snorts, briefly looking back over her shoulder at Chloe.

" _I_  think it's nice."

Chloe smiles. "Never said it wasn't.”

Rachel lifts her arms up and spreads out her fingers, inhaling deeply and closing her eyes. 

Chloe just watches. She doesn't want to do anything to spoil the moment. Because that would be so, so easy. Destruction is familiar with Chloe; ruining things comes natural.

It’s not like Rachel is some delicate little flower that Chloe will end up corrupting with her touch. No, it’s not like that. If Chloe was going to break her, it would've happened by now. Rachel is stronger than that. She's special, she's important... she's supernatural.

In comparison, everything else, including Chloe, seems irrelevant. Pathetic. Insignificant. Rachel is more than all of this. Rachel is more than anybody. Rachel is more than anything.

Chloe doesn't have that same quality.

Chloe loves Rachel, and she loves being in Rachel’s company, and maybe it’s selfish, but she loves having Rachel all to herself and nobody else.

But none of that changes the fact that they are not the same. Rachel is better. Rachel is the kind of perfect that Chloe can admire. She’s just  _different_  from the Blackwell snobs. She can’t explain it, not really. Not with words. But she wants Rachel to know how fucking amazing she is, regardless, so maybe—maybe with touch. Maybe if she held Rachel’s hand, or kissed her again—

No. No, that was a  _joke_. A joke. Chloe’s a fucking joke.

Rachel opens her eyes and exhales, then reaches into her pocket and pulls out a joint. Chloe blinks a few times.

She feels less out of the picture, now. Drugs are a Chloe thing. Alcohol is a Chloe thing. Her and Rachel share common ground.

So, Rachel isn’t perfect. But she’s the closest goddamn thing to it.

“Light me up?” she asks, sticking the blunt between her teeth. Chloe abides, reaching into her backpack for a lighter.

Just as she’s extending her arm to hold out the lighter, Rachel grabs her wrist, halting her. Chloe stops, staring into Rachel’s eyes, searching. Rachel beckons her closer with her other hand.

Chloe cautiously steps into Rachel’s space, then lifts the lighter to her lips. It clicks, then Rachel’s face is awash in soft yellow light, glowing. They don’t break eye contact the whole time.

When the joint catches fire, the initial smoke blows into Chloe’s face, but she’s still entranced so she doesn’t move. It takes a few seconds before she pulls back again.

“Thanks,” Rachel says quietly. Chloe nods, stuffing the lighter back into her bag again.

“Where’d you get that?” Chloe asks softly.

Rachel breathes out smoke and looks to the sky. “My pocket?”

Chloe looks at her in disbelief. She shakes her head, muttering. “Smartass.”

“Mmhm,” Rachel hums, nodding her head.

"No, I mean it," Chloe continues.

"The joint?" Rachel asks, seemingly incredulous. Chloe nods her head.

"They're drugs, Chlo. I got them from a drug dealer."

Chloe rolls her eyes, impatient. "You said last week you were all out. I thought Justin was carrying your weed for tonight."

Rachel frowns, considering her words.

"Did I say that?"

"Uh, yeah, you did."

"Oh," Rachel responds, her voice quiet. "I forgot to tell you I got more."

"Oh. You got more," Chloe repeats. "I see."

"What?" Rachel asks. Chloe doesn't say anything back, just staring at her feet.

" _What_?" Rachel asks again, louder.

"Nothing."

"Nothing my ass-"

"Are you cold?" Chloe pipes up, raising her eyebrows. Rachel squints at Chloe. "Because I have a couple shirts in my bag." 

When Rachel doesn't reply, Chloe pulls a flannel out of her backpack and pulls it over her shoulders. She sets the bag down on the ground and nods at it, buttoning up her shirt.

"No, I'm not... no," Rachel murmurs, shaking her head at Chloe's offer. Chloe shrugs.

"Suit yourself."

"What's wrong with me getting weed, Chloe? You never care about that shit. You get high, like, every day. No offence."

"Thanks."

"Don't  _be_  that way," Rachel whines.  _What way?_  Chloe thinks. What fucking way. What way is she? 

"You're right. I  _don't_  care about that," Chloe says, throwing her backpack back over her shoulder again. "Come on, I've gotta get going now."

Rachel sighs, then takes another puff of the joint. "You want a hit?"

Chloe wouldn't mind that, actually. It'd make a poor substitute for the taste of Rachel's lips, though, so she shakes her head. "No."

They start walking again.

"Was it sketchy guy?" Chloe asks, eventually. Rachel doesn't say anything at first, but her pause is telling enough. "Gross."

"Frank isn't sketchy," Rachel says, shaking her head. She's thinking Chloe won't understand, again, isn't she. She thinks Chloe's below her. Of course she does. Chloe  _is_  below her.

"Whatever," Chloe says. "The dude's weird. Stalking around with his mutt. Dealing to kids."

" _You're_  a kid he deals to!" Rachel's voice is getting all high and defensive. "Look, he's not that bad. Once you get to know him-"

"'Get to know him'? What, you expect me to hang out with my fucking dealer?"

"What's wrong with that?"

"Are you listening to yourself?"

Rachel sighs. Again. These days Rachel's always sighing, always worried, always concerned, always  _sad_. It's Chloe's fault, isn't it? Rachel feels that way because of Chloe.

Chloe is weary, and Chloe is pissed, but most of all, she's guilty.

She gives up. Gives in. Gives out.

"Sorry," she mumbles. It's quiet and pathetic.

Rachel is all Chloe's got. She can't afford to lose her. She can't. If that means hanging out with her fucking drug dealer then so fucking be it. If that means tolerating Rachel having friends other than herself, then fucking  _fine_. Jesus. She feels wretched. She feels dependent, she feels gross, she feels disgusting, she feels like a leech, she feels like a shit friend—

Rachel hugs her. She wraps her arms around Chloe's shoulders and squeezes her tight. "It's okay," she says.

Chloe freezes, suddenly unsure of what to do with her arms, her face, her body. Rachel buries her face into Chloe's chest.

She settles on snaking her arms around Rachel's waist, nestling her chin in the crook of her neck; Rachel's hair covering her face so she can't see a thing.

She still smells like weed and alcohol, but there's something sweeter behind it, like strawberries and sugar. Chloe allows herself to breathe in, indulging in Rachel.

"Love you, Chlo." Rachel's voice is low beside Chloe's ear. Chloe's heart jumps into her throat. She swallows, her breath catching.

"I love you more," Chloe says, because she does. Her words on their own aren't enough, though.

She holds her even tighter to emphasize it, but it's not tight enough. They're not close enough. Nothing seems to be  _enough_.

 

They break apart, and Rachel walks Chloe back to her house.

She hugs her again before Chloe climbs back in through her window. 

"Nice parkour!" she shouts, and Chloe shushes her.

Rachel says she'll text her tomorrow, and hope blossoms in Chloe's chest. She's counting on that. She watches Rachel walk back down the block, a little bounce in her step, and she smiles when she shuts the window.

The feeling is  _almost_  enough.

But when she slumps back down onto her bed, tossing her backpack into the corner of the room - she sinks into the mattress, slipping back into reality.

Reality sounds like step-douche hammering shit in the garage, and the low drone of her mom’s evening TV. Reality smells like left-over chicken dinner that Chloe skipped. Reality looks like Chloe all alone again.

Reality isn’t nice. It hisses in Chloe’s ear.

_Rachel is fantasy._

Chloe isn’t enough for her, is she?

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> i lied. i was thinking about ending this on a positive note but we all know where rachel and chloe's story leads to anyway so i thought what's the harm
> 
> as always, comments/feedback are more than welcome! corrections/constructive criticism = v appreciated. i wrote this from midnight til 5am so there's bound to be mistakes in here. 
> 
> title is from Townie by Mitski.


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